


Become mine

by stilesstilerstyle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Drugging, Forced Prostitution, Gags, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Slavery, Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John receives a strange e-mail containing a link.<br/>He finds out that he is being auctioned off on the internet, and he really wants to do something about it, but before he can, his chance gets taken away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there dear people.  
> This is my first more than one chapter fic on this site, and I am pretty nervous as you could say. Since it's the first one, and I am not sure if anyone will like it, I just started writing the way it popped up in my head, and if people like it, I will continue.  
> :) Keep in mind, that I am not a native english speaker, so any mistakes I make, just let me know, that would be very much appreciated.  
> Now, enjoy.

John had just finished his blog entry on their last case. He chuckled as he pressed the button that would post it online, remembering how Sherlock had gotten attacked by that cat, and had fought to get her off his face.

 

Standing by he had laughed until tears came and Sherlock was not amused. John decided to call the entry 'Scratchy times' even though it had actually nothing much to do with the case, but he thought that he had to mention it, you know, all for the readers.

He was just about to close his laptop, when he saw that he had a new e-mail in his inbox. Probably just spam, but it did no harm checking, so he opened his account and opened the e-mail.

 

John didn’t recognize the sender. The subject box was filled with the capital letters ‘BEWARE’. John narrowed his eyes, thinking that it might be a virus, but who would be so stupid to title their virus with a warning. His eyes wandered down to the main text, which consisted only of a link. Nothing else, just a link.

 

The decision to click came easy with the reason that he didn’t actually have anything to do, so what harm could come of it.

 

So he clicked it. He was redirected to a site; on the first look it seemed simple, nothing special. There were two more links on a black background. The one on the left said ‘female’ in a shade of pink, the one on the right said ‘male’ in blue.

 

John narrowed his eyes. What was this supposed to be? Porn? Who would send him porn?

 

Since he didn’t know for sure yet what would come after those other links, curiosity won him over and he clicked the right link.

His brain told him to click what he was, which was male after all, and if it was wrong he could still go back.

 

He came yet onto another site, but this one looked a bit different.

The background was still black, but there was a lot more text now. There was some sort of a raster, two sections.

On the left there always stood a name as it seemed and on the right side a picture of a man. John figured it was always the man whose name was written on the left. They were all men.

 

He scrolled and found that there were a lot of names. Many names with many pictures. Every name was a link on their own; John clicked one by random, coming to something like a profile. There was a description, which in itself would not have been weird at all, until John started to read.

 

Mark Ashton

Blonde, 28 years old, 1.80m, 85kg. Has been property for three years, but his previous owner decided that he wanted something else.

Barely damaged. Well trained, follows orders.

Likes to be stuffed with plugs and loves to suck cock, whenever he gets the chance.

 

John shook his head as he read. What was this? Some perverse sex site for people with special needs?

John went back and scrolled back up. Just now he saw the other links on the top of the page.

‘New pets’

‘Well trained’

‘Feisty’

 

John couldn’t wrap his head around it, why anyone would send him such an e-mail.

 

He was not sure. Maybe this was something illegal, and someone wanted him to do something about it.

After a few moments in thoughts, if he should call Sherlock, he decided against it. Maybe this was just some sex site, right?

 

Hesitantly he clicked the link titles with ‘New pets’. Another list with names turned up.

John scrolled through, when suddenly his heart skipped a beat.

His eyes were flying over the letters again and again.

 

‘John Hamish Watson’

 

He let out a nervous chuckle. Was this some sick joke from Sherlock? If yes, even he should know that this would be tasteless.

Johns tongue flicked over his lips, his mouth was suddenly very dry.

Other than on the site before, there were no pictures to the names.

 

His fingers found their way in his hair. What was this all about?

Flexing his fingers, he brought them back just over the track pad, noticing that he was trembling. He hovered over the link titled with his name. Not sure if he should click it.

But then he shook his head. He was not going to let some weird site with his name on it let him intimidate him. So he clicked it.

 

He half expected there to be written a message in big flashy letters, saying something like: ‘HA! I got you good this time John.’

 

But it didn’t.

His eyes were fixed on a spot, where a picture had loaded. He stared at it. His eyes were wide.

A shiver ran down his spine and a cold stinging feeling started to pool in his chest.

 

He was staring at a picture of himself. It had not been taken when he knew of it.

It showed him in his profile, standing in the street. Someone must have taken it when he wasn’t paying attention.

 

John couldn’t swallow. He felt like he was going to be sick.

 

He finally managed to pull his eyes of the photograph, wandering over to where there was a small text. His mouth fell open.

 

John Hamish Watson

Height: 1.69m

Age: 42

Status: Not available. Work in progress.

The ex-soldier is currently working with the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. Struggle guaranteed. In need of a strong hand, observation at all times. Dangerous.

No preferences known.

 

John gulped. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Right underneath the small text, there was a small picture of a pair of handcuffs, and right beside there were the words: ‘Make an offer to secure’

 

His hands just moved, since his brain had shut off a while ago. He scrolled down a bit, he gasped as he realized that the numbers that were written, were offers of money.

He was being bet on.

 

This was not right. This could not be real; it had to be some sick prank. A joke. But as John scrolled and read the numbers it all came crashing down on him.

 

Someone was auctioning him off.

 

John felt sick. He drew in deep breaths as his heart was racing. He closed the laptop in one quick motion, feeling bile rise to his throat. He jumped up, ran through the hallway towards the bathroom. As soon as he reached the toilet he already heaved the last thing he ate into the bowl. 

His head was swimming. It had to be a nightmare. His body was shivering, with weak knees he was leaning on the toilet seat. Waiting for the next wave of nausea to crash over him.

 

He had to tell Sherlock, the only person who would be able to help him. But he was out, somewhere on a case, or doing an experiment. John’s fingers were trembling as he reached into his pocket to search for his phone.

With clammy palms he pulled it out. He pushed himself up, still wobbly kneed he slowly walked toward the living room. His fingers were searching on the phone. Sherlock. Sherlock.

 

Finally he found the contact. He was typing, his brain was working overtime, trying to phrase his problem as shortly as possible, just so that Sherlock would get his arse back there as soon as possible.

 

Just as he had typed the last letter, the door burst open.

John dropped his phone, turning his head to look at the intruders. Freezing, his heart skipped a beat. 

 

Please god, let me live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows what will happen next... :) As you can see in the tags, I have many evil things planned...  
> If you like it, let me know in the comments, and if there are any mistakes, please, let me know!  
> Kudos/comments are highly welcome and appreciated and will make me feel sooooooo happy! ^^


	2. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself in a situation much more real than he could have imagined, and it's only getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY GOD! I am so happy that people like this story so far! :) I hope that I won't disappoint you... Now enjoy the second chapter. Cheers.

John looked at the three men who now stood in the doorframe. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Thoughts were racing through his head.

 

The men were all wearing masks, they didn’t hesitate to storm into the room, towards John.

He turned around, starting for the fireplace, where he had put a gun, for cases just like this one. He almost got his hands on it, reaching, when he felt a strong arm around his torso, pulling him back and throwing him to the ground.

 

His head hit the floor and pain shot through his head, trying to get up was futile, immediately after he was thrown down, another man had fallen down on him, pinning his arms down.

 

He was breathless, not sure what was really happening. His thoughts were still whirling about the e-mail. This could not have been a coincidence.

 

He wriggled underneath the heavy body, kicking his knees up and hitting the man into his ribs. John thought that maybe, just maybe there was still a chance of getting away. He tried to throw the groaning man off of him, but the man who had thrown him down was now pointing a gun at him.

 

John was out of breath, looking down the barrel of the gun. His eyes were wide, and he knew that there was only one chance left. He was not sure if he had sent the text.

 

He tried to turn his head, seeing the phone, just out of reach, and how the third man picked it up.

 

“Would you look at that. Our dear little Doctor tried to send for his Detective. Too bad you didn’t press send, and instead went for your gun… This would have given you more of a chance.” He cackled, looking down at John, who was still pinned under the weight of the other man, who held his arms over his head.

 

With a sickening grin he deleted the message. John groaned.

 

Suddenly a thought shot through his head. He gaped at the three men, remembering that Mrs. Hudson was downstairs. Oh god.

 

He tried to wriggle free once more, but it only earned him a backhand across his face. He gasped, relenting. He just hoped that they hadn’t hurt Mrs. Hudson. He grit his teeth and glared up at the masked men.

 

The man who was still holding his phone then spoke again: “Get him up, and tie him up, nice and snuggly.” John was yanked up, and his hands were forced behind his back. He heard ripping of duct tape, and felt how his wrists were taped together tightly. He cringed at the sticky feeling.

 

When he finally had gotten some more air into his lungs, he spoke again. “What do you want from me?” He glared at the man before him, searching for something, maybe guilt, pity, anything. But all he could see was smugness and cold eyes.

 

“You did receive the e-mail, did you not? Well, that was not planned, but apparently someone tried to give you a hint to get out of here. So we had to work fast, otherwise we would have probably lost you.”

John shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!” He didn’t receive an answer, only another grin and then the man nodded at the one who had now finished tying John.

This was the sign to shut John up. He felt how more duct tape was wrapped around his head, tightly over his lips, sealing them, so he could not speak anymore.

 

His heart was racing; his eyes flickered down at his phone once more, which was now gently placed on the table.

Rage constricted John’s breathing, he wanted to hit these men, kill them even.

 

The leader walked out the door, and the others followed him, each were holding one of John’s arms tightly, like iron grips, forcing him to walk.

 

This was not the first time he had been kidnapped, and up until now, Sherlock had always found him. This time it would not be different. Hopefully.

 

They practically dragged him down the stairs. His breathing hitched when his eyes fell onto the lifeless body of Mrs. Hudson, lying in front of her own door.

He saw blood trickle down her temple. He shouted into his gag, they couldn’t have killed her. This could not be how he would see her for the last time. This was not what she deserved.

He felt how tears welled up in his eyes. Was she still breathing? He couldn’t tell before he was shoved out the door, and thrown into a dark vehicle.

 

An electrifying pain shot through his body, then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

He was woken partially by a pounding headache, and partially by bright flashing lights. Pressing his eyes shut, he tried to lift his hands up to his head, to ease the pain, but he realized that they were locked in place behind his back.

 

The flashing was continuous, making it almost impossible for him to open his eyes. He realized that there was pressure against his knees, which must have meant that he was kneeling on something.

 

He felt a strain against his shoulders. He tried to shift a bit, but it was almost impossible. Ropes had been wound around his upper arms, pulling his shoulders back, making his chest stick forward. In fact, also his lower arms were being pulled together.

 

It was very painful.

He hung his head, trying to flee from the flashing lights; slowly he pried his eyelids open, only to see that he was naked, and that also his legs had been tied with red ropes. The way he was kneeling showed that his thighs had been tied to the lower leg, just above and under the knee, forcing him to into this uncomfortable position.

 

He felt sluggish, still not really able to actually understand what was going on. But what he understood was, that he had not fallen over, that seemed strange; since he knew that he had been unconscious.

Trying to slump over, he realized that there was another rope, suspended from the ceiling and tied with the ones behind his back, holding him upright.

He flexed his fingers, not really feeling it them since they were numb.

 

Finally he managed to look up, directly forward, to where the flashing lights were coming from. Suddenly he was wide awake, seeing himself reflected in the huge lens of a camera.

 

He saw himself, just for a second, but he saw how he was kneeling there: naked, bound and a ball gag in his mouth, bright red, matching with the ropes. Also seeing his wide blue eyes, staring back at him.

 

He heard voices, when he started to fight, trying to get his legs out from underneath him, he could barely breathe, it felt like a huge weight was crushing his chest. He was panicking.

 

But nothing helped, he took deep breaths through his nose, the terrible reality dawning on him, that he would not be able to free himself without help. He was in the hands of the strangers who had brought him here.

Almost choking, as he tried to hold back the tears, he looked up again, seeing dark shadows moving behind the camera. He heard hushed voices, catching a few words.

‘Gorgeous’, ‘Wish I could take him myself’, ‘Expensive’

 

John gulped. This was actually happening. He was a thing, goods.

The photographs which were being taken, were probably going to go up on the site, making him look more desirous, raising the offers even further.

He was being sold. A slave.

 

He had no idea what was going to happen now. In the back of his mind, a small voice was still screaming: ‘Sherlock will search for you, and he will find you!’

But the voice was faint, being deafened by the screams of helplessness pressing its way through every single fibre of his body.

Finally, the desperation completely muted the small voice. It pressed into his mind, taking everything else up.

 

A strangled sob escaped from his lips. One single tear rolled down his cheek, the lights flashing, then, they suddenly stopped.

 

John looked up in amazement. He heard a low voice say: ‘Beautiful. This makes the perfect picture. People will pay a fortune for the pet.’

 

He closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. Humiliation made a blush creep up his neck. What now?

 

‘Good god!’ A voice made him jump. His eyes were searching for the person who had uttered them.

 

Whispering again. And then, one figure stepped forward. It was a young man, he didn’t seem like he was enjoying this very much, but apparently it was his job. He looked shyly down at John, who was waiting for him to say something.

 

His voice was calm, and somehow soothing, even if the words were not: ‘Just now, when we put the pictures up, someone bought you. For 85’000 pounds. You are our highest price we ever sold someone on.’

 

John just stared back at the young man. What did he want to hear?

‘Oh wow, thank you, what an honour it is to be sold for so much! Who is the lucky winner?’

 

Instead he sighed, looking pleadingly at the young man, hoping to find some compassion in his eyes. But he only lowered his gaze, and walked away again.

 

He had been sold. To god knew whom, with god knew what intentions, but it was clear that they were definitely not good.

 

John was cold and aching. And he had no one who was on his side. He was alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John huh?  
> I am sorry to say that it will only get much, much worse... :(  
> Comments and Kudos will help me to get my ass up and continue writing... Just a tip. ^^ Thanks for reading.


	3. Utter debasement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to meet his new owner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord. I had a writers block... But then my dark muse came back to me and I was inspired. ^^  
> I always feel fucked up because of the stuff I imagine, but as soon as I come on here, I realize, that we're all weird, and that makes me really happy. :D  
> I apologize beforehand, because this is where the dark stuff starts.  
> The real nasty dark stuff.  
> So if you can't completely trust yourself with such lecture, then don't read it, because it gets dark, and it will only get darker with every chapter.  
> I warned you.  
> Now, all the creeps out there, who share my fantasies, enjoy. :) (I love you all!)

John had hoped that when they were untying him, that he might get a chance to surprise them, punch his way out of there, if even naked, he didn’t care as long as he got to get out.

But his hopes were cruelly smashed when he looked up to see another man come towards him, a syringe with clear liquid inside it in his hand.

 

He had been drugged before, god, even by Sherlock’s hand, but never had it been comfortable. The feeling of the liquid, how it flows into your bloodstream, slowly paralyzing your muscles until it got to your head, where it finally also dulled your mind.

 

It was like you were getting suffocated, just that it wasn’t your body that didn’t get to breathe anymore, but your thoughts, and eventually blackness would overtake you, and all you knew was that when you wake up, in that case completely different from being suffocated by a soft pillow, the hard reality of whatever horror was awaiting you would hit you with full force.

 

John stared with horror as the man came closer, pushing up the liquid, so that just one tiny little drop pooled atop the needle.

 

The bound ex-soldier knew that it was hopeless to try and fight, he would only get himself hurt. So he stared helplessly at the approaching needle and watched, almost with fascination.

 

Although he had seen it a thousand times, as he’d done it himself, the needle disappearing in the flesh of his arm, the tiny prick he felt as it was jabbed in, and then how the liquid slowly disappeared through the tiny opening into the blood.

 

As soon as the syringe was empty, he looked up at the man who had injected it and gave him his most frantic and distressed look.

 

He already felt the drug rising to his head, the reeling slowing until it came to a full stop. The last thing he saw was a malicious grin. Then blackness took hold of him and pulled him under into a soft embrace.

 

* * *

 

Coming to wasn’t as easy as slipping under.

 

It was a fight, like you were stuck to black, hot tar and you had to pull yourself off of it, just to get pulled back again. John fought as hard as he could, not remembering why, just trying to get out.

 

He wriggled his toes and pried his eyelids open when he finally managed to come unstuck.

 

The first thing he felt was delight at his success of gaining consciousness. The second thing was remorse, as when he opened his eyes and tried to move nothing happened, and the stinging feeling of metal cutting into his skin came over him.

 

Everything came flooding back; it was like a crash, everything at the same time. Remembering the e-mail, the masked men, the camera and the syringe.

 

A groan escaped from his mouth.

 

He had been sold. They must have transported him while he was unconscious.

 

Now he was in a room with dark walls, almost black. Dim light came from somewhere above his head. Somehow he was positioned in a way that he was staring straight ahead at a wall, which was filled with hooks, each and every single one of them bearing toys, ropes, handcuffs, whips and much more.

 

John’s stomach plummeted, and he tried to wet his lips, just now realizing that something was holding his mouth wide open. He tried to feel around as far as he could with his tongue, tasting metal.

 

A spider gag had been jammed between his teeth. John tried to swallow the saliva which had pooled on his tongue, realizing that is was a lot harder with his mouth in such a position.

 

Reluctantly he felt further down his body, trying to wriggle something. There was the feeling of something around his neck. It didn’t budge when he tried to move forward, so it had to be made of a sturdy material, probably metal, but it also felt soft against the skin of his throat, so it had to be padded with something, maybe leather.

 

He almost snorted at the thought. How nice of the person who had locked him in there to think of his comfort.

 

As a habit he flexed his fingers, seeing them out of the corner of his eyes. They were on the same level as his head, held by something similar as the thing around his neck.

 

John finally came to the conclusion that he was locked in some sort of stock. Once again he was on his knees, but this time his ankles were being pushed apart. Again, by metal shackles.

And oh. He was naked. What a surprise.

 

He had been kneeling there; awake for about a half hour now, slowly getting bored, despite being in such a compromising situation.

 

Since that collar encircled his neck, his view of the whole room was restricted, so he could barely even turn to the right or to the left.

 

He was also starting to feel the effect of his hands and arms being in that position, which let all the blood flow down, causing his hands to go slowly, but surely numb. Not to mention the throbbing ache that was starting to build in his wrenched open jaw.

 

Even the thought of going back to sleep was crossing his mind, but that all faded immediately when he heard a heavy door being opened somewhere behind him.

 

He remembered that this was serious, that he had been taken against his will.

 

He tried, even though it was futile, to turn his head, to maybe just get a peek at the person who had entered. He didn’t even know if it was a woman or a man.

 

The panic, which he had stuffed away somewhere in the back of his head started to press forward again, making his breathing go faster, his heart picking up its pace. He heard heavy footsteps carefully coming closer. It had to be a man.

 

He felt the stranger’s eyes roaming over his body, and he believed to even have heard a sigh of delight.

 

John’s eyes constantly darted back and forth, not really knowing on which side the man would come around.

 

He flinched when he felt fingertips against his back, gently tracing up to his shoulders.

 

Sucking in deep breaths now, he attempted to look up over his shoulder, but the collar still prevented him from seeing the man.

 

Finally he gave up and looked straight forward. He would most likely get to see the man sooner or later either way.

The fingertips had found their way up into John’s sandy hair.

 

The touch was soft and gentle. And so was his voice when he finally spoke.

 

'So, my dear. I am glad you are finally awake. I suppose you’ve figured out by now what kind of situation you find yourself in.'

 

The fingers were carding through John’s hair, and he was trying very hard not whimper. He would not show weakness. The most important thing was to try and stay strong. Not to lose willpower until Sherlock came and got him out of this mess.

 

'I know you. I’ve seen you in the papers, with that detective friend of yours. Sherlock Holmes is it? To be honest, I always found you more intriguing, but I’ve never dreamt of finding you, for sale, on the Internet.' He chuckled icily.

 

He had stepped behind John now, and his hands were gliding down to his shoulders once again.

 

He startled when the voice was suddenly very close to his ear. He could feel the hot breath on his cheek, he could even smell him.

It smelled fresh and clean, with just a tinge of musk.

 

'I fantasized about having you, owning you. And now, it has happened. My fantasy has come true.'

 

John swallowed, as he heard the grin in the man’s voice.

 

Finally the man let go of his shoulders and stepped around and in front of John. [He looked up at the sharp dressed man](http://doctormysweetie.tumblr.com/post/88088124459/x). He was handsome, he couldn’t deny it, but the look on his face made John’s heart stop.

 

Utter malice and lust was written all over his features. His green eyes gazed down at him, mercilessly.

He had short, dark blond hair, neatly styled. And he had stubble adorning his strong jaw.

 

John wanted to say something, ask so many questions. But after the first few incomprehensible jumble of noises, he remembered that he had a spider gag in his mouth.

 

So all he could do was glare.

 

The man smiled, showing his white teeth.

Then he slowly crouched down, so he would be on about the same height as John. He was really close, and John would have hustled back, if only he could have.

 

He lifted his hand to John’s face, lifting his chin just a little bit. He heard the man mumble, more to himself than to John: 'I will definitely enjoy this.' He was still grinning when he stood up again. John kept staring at the strangers face.

 

His eyes went wide when the man reached down for his fly. He unzipped it and his trousers fell down from his narrow hips.

 

No underwear kept a half hard cock from lightly jutting forward.

 

John hadn’t thought of it up until then, but it became clear quite quickly why he was kneeling, and what the purpose of the spider gag was. And now he also knew that something like that was inevitable in the situation he was in.

 

He panicked; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the now quickly growing cock, as the man was palming himself.

 

He started thrashing against his bonds, which didn’t budge an inch. The stock was bolted to the floor, keeping the person who was locked in with padlocks from moving it anywhere.

 

This was the first time the man got to hear John groan and moan. He was panting, his hands were clenched into fists, as the man stepped closer.

 

'Open wide.' The man chuckled at his own comment, since John didn’t have much of a choice.

 

He decided to close his eyes, hoping it would make the whole thing easier. But as he felt how the shaft of the think cock slowly was pushed into his mouth he couldn’t help but open his eyes again.

 

Nothing he could do would make this easier; all he could hope for was that it would be over quickly.

The man had buried his hands in John’s hair, the gentle touches from before seemingly forgotten.

He grabbed a fistful with each hand and thrust forward, burying his cock all the way to the hilt.

John had never given a blowjob before, and the feeling of something so big and foreign in his mouth, not to speak about it being something he could not remove by himself, made him sick.

 

As the cock hit the back of John’s throat he gagged, involuntarily making his tongue spasm, trying to remove the cock. This seemed to please the man enormously since he moaned with pleasure.

 

'Oh you’re a right slut, aren’t you, Doctor?' He pulled out just to thrust back in, to feel John’s tongue revolt against the unwelcome intrusion.

 

He started pistoning in and out, fucking John’s face in a rhythm John could not keep up with. He struggled to breathe, all the time thinking that this had to be a dream, a nightmare.

But it was too real of a feeling to be a dream.

 

He shut his eyes, feeling how tears started to well up in them because of the penetration. He knew that he should try to relax his throat, it would get easier to breathe, but he just couldn’t get himself to do it.

 

The man was still thrusting hard, every time burying himself to the hilt.

'God. You. Feel. So. Good.' He accentuated every word with a thrust, drawing in shallow breaths through gritted teeth.

 

He tried to keep his tongue from moving too much, hoping it would give his tormentor less pleasure, but his body fought against him and he couldn’t keep it from twisting.

 

Tears were rolling down his cheeks, he felt as a side note how he was digging his nails into his palms, nearly drawing blood.

 

It seemed to take an eternity, and John was almost relieved when he felt the man’s cock pulse in his mouth, he felt how the hands in his hair tightened even more, pulling at the roots.

 

With one last thrust he buried himself deep in John’s mouth, staying there as he groaned and came.

 

John tried to draw in breath through his nose, and he almost choked when he felt the hot spurt of come running down his throat. He couldn’t help but swallow the bitter medicine.

 

He pried his eyes open as the man finally pulled out his cock, letting go of John’s hair.

The ex-soldier coughed and sucked in deep breathes, trying to get air to his oxygen deprived lungs.

The taste of cock and come were mixing on his tongue, and he would have given anything to get a glass of water to flush out the flavour.

 

His eyes met the one’s of his owner, still feeling how the tears were streaking his cheeks.

[The man cleaned himself up](http://doctormysweetie.tumblr.com/post/84159222759), with a white flannel from a nearby table, then he pulled up his trousers and zipped himself up.

 

John felt ashamed, humiliated, debased.

 

The man threw the flannel to the side. Then he stepped in front of John again, patting his head, the touch was now gentle afresh, but it just seemed mocking now.

 

'That was extraordinary. I think I’ll have a lot of fun with you John.' A smile was audible in his speech.

 

John cringed at hearing his own name. It was the first time he had used it since he’d entered.

 

The man walked past John, his hand still on John’s head, carding through his ruffled hair.

 

With a smug voice he said, just as he walked out the door: 'If I ever give you the chance to talk, you may call me Victor.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, right? I don't know what came over me, I just had Tom Hiddleston in mind, and then my brain flashed the name Victor Trevor... :D  
> But just so you know, I won't get into the story between Sherlock and Victor, cause it's about John, I just liked the little twist. I hope you're all okay with that, let me know, and if not, let me know as well.  
> And for John's sake: Poor little John, give him a cookie.  
> Thank you for all the kudos and the comments, because that's the stuff that feeds my muse, and makes me want to make you happy. ^^  
> Thank you all for reading my fucked up fantasy.


	4. Pried away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait, I had so many exams, and I know that this isn't very much of a chapter, and it't kind of moving quickly, but I just didn't know how else to do it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it. :) (I have no exams anymore, so a lot of free time, and I hope that my dark muse won't leave me, so that I will be able to write some good chapters. ^^)
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> (Any mistakes are my own. Unfuckingfortunately.)

John was shivering, feeling his legs going number by the minute. He could simply not wrap his mind around what had just happened. What was still happening to him.

Things like this didn’t happen. At least not to him, not to John Watson.

 

After Victor had left, John had just knelt there, not having a choice in the matter. All he wanted to do was to wash out his mouth, the bitter taste of the man’s semen seemed to burn itself into his tongue.

 

His tears had ceased rolling down his cheeks; after all he knew that it was no use. Not as usual. Normally a good cry, hidden in his room, had helped him get over whatever problem had bothered him, it being losing a patient, or just feeling terrible.

 

But there was no solution in sight for this kind of problem. His inner Doctor told him that crying would only dehydrate him, take away the little strength he still had left in his sore muscles.

He sat there for another half hour, but it felt like far more.

 

When he heard the door open behind him, his heart jumped again, racing, fear coiling in his chest.

 

Something very much like relief flooded him when another man came in, who started to fiddle with his bonds.

First the gag was taken out of his mouth, he would have pleaded, if the man hadn’t worn a look so indifferent, meaning that he had been doing this job for a long time, and would not be suddenly moved by a pathetic middle-aged man asking for his help.

 

Instead he moved his jaw around, trying to work out the soreness in the muscles around his teeth. He took the opportunity to spit out the rest of the semen, that much to his discomfort had already dried on his tongue.

 

The man who was now working on the metal construction encircling John’s neck as well as his wrists either didn’t seem to notice or he simply just didn’t care.

 

Before he was released completely, the man took out a pair of leather cuffs out of his pocket, ready to get John to comply again.

 

John knew that in the state that he was in it wouldn’t make sense to actually try and put up a fight. It would only result in pain on his side.

 

His upper body was released and the cuffs immediately snapped around his wrists, at least in front of his body, so he finally was able to treat himself with a little bit of cover of his private parts.

The spreader bar between his ankles was removed with a few more experienced moves, and then John felt himself being hoisted up, and pushed forward.

 

Finally he got a look at the room, which had been hidden from his sight up until that point.

It was a huge room, filled with different contraptions, designed to bring pleasure to the people using them, unfortunately in John’s case only one of two got to actually enjoy it.

 

John didn’t realize that he was gaping until the man shoved him forward, toward a door, there were two, and John knew that the one they were walking towards was not the one leading out of this nightmare.

 

The door was opened for him and he was ushered inside. The room was a bit smaller than the one they had just come from, and looked a lot emptier, and more sparsely furnished. There was a simple bed, a shower and a toilet with a sink beside it.

 

John stood in the middle and almost jumped when he heard the door slam and a key turn in the lock.

He was alone.

 

He walked over to the sink as fast as he could, bending down to take a sip of the the crystal clear water pouring out of the tap.

 

He gurgled, so thankful for such a tiny feeling of freedom.

He spit out, still tasting the bitterness, but glad that he was now able to distract himself from it.

The next thing he did, was take a long, scalding shower, scrubbing his body, until he was red all over.

 

The disgusting feeling that was winding its tendrils through his body, was something he could not get rid of.

 

All this he had to do with the cuffs around his wrists, which were astoundingly sturdy and apparently waterproof.

 

He found a white towel, with which he rubbed down his body.

 

Purely out of habit he looked around the room, searching for his closet, which would contain his clothes. But there was no closet, and there were no clothes.

 

He could have thought that there would be no such luxury, but at least there was a clean blanket on the freshly made bed.

 

A yawn pressed its way through his lungs, and suddenly he felt really tired.

He curled up in the bed, pulling the sheets over his naked body, giving him some comfort in this whole fucked up situation.

 

Sleep came a lot easier than he would have thought it would, and he was so grateful that it was a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

John was ripped from his blissful sleep, when the door to his room slammed open. The man from the day before walked towards John with quick determined steps.

 

Without any words he pulled John from the tangled covers, undoing one of the manacles, and pulling John’s hands behind his back, reattaching them.

 

Confusion was written all over John’s face, and this was the first time he saw a reaction on the man’s face, he almost seemed distressed as he produced a ball gag out of nowhere and pushed it in between John’s already parted lips.

 

This was not a good sign. Something must have happened. His stomach churned uncomfortably. This was probably not the right time to notice the nagging hunger in his stomach, but it made itself known nonetheless.

 

John found himself pushed forward, out of his room, back into the one, where the nightmare from the day before had occurred.

 

The tied up Doctor immediately started to dig his heels into the ground as soon as he saw Victor standing in the centre of the room, waiting, tapping his foot, impatiently.

 

John shook his head, as the man practically had to carry him to Victor. He pushed him down on his knees in front of his ‘owner’.

 

All John could think was: _No, please! NO!_

He was afraid that yesterday would repeat itself.

 

Much to his surprise, when he took a look at Victor’s face, he saw the same look of distress on his features.

 

He barely noticed the hand on his shoulder holding him down.

 

Victor started to pace in front of John, clearing his throat.

 

He stopped from time to time, opening his mouth, trying to speak, but then something stopped him and he started to pace again.

 

Finally he came to a halt, right in front of John, and he crouched down, so he could look into John’s eyes.

 

‘I never thought one person could get me into so much trouble.’

 

John was mystified as to what was going on.

 

He felt Victor’s hand on his chin, gently stroking over his bottom lip with his thumb.

With wide eyes he stared at the man who was holding him captive.

 

‘I am going to have to let you go. Because if I don’t I’ll have a lot more to lose.’ Almost an apologetic look spread across his face. 

  
What was that supposed to mean? Let go? Was he going to kill John?

 

John felt his heart racing, and he started to shake his head, afraid. This was terrible, sure, but he didn’t want to die.

 

A smile ghosted across Victor’s lips. ‘Sorry pet. But I really want to keep my skin.’

 

Before John could even make a sound resembling a plea, he felt the prick of a needle in his neck, and his eyes were rolling back in his head.

 

He was so confused, and he felt his body fight, trying to stay awake, afraid that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to come back again. He didn’t want to let go, but he was pried free from consciousness, and flung back and down into the all too familiar darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to think of this whole thing... 
> 
> But I always love to read comments. And kudos lift my spirits. ^^
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	5. Deaf, dumb, blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry that the last chapter was so short, and that I always take my time with updating, but the holidays are nearing, and I hope I will be able to spend some more time writing. :)
> 
> And, I am sorry. Really. (not... :P)
> 
> Enjoy.

He wasn’t sure if he was awake or still unconscious. It felt like he was floating in utter darkness. He didn’t see, hear or even feel anything.

 

After a while he started to wonder if he was dead, and this is what had happened when one’s soul was relieved of the burden of life. Darkness. Loneliness. If this was it, John didn’t want to be dead. He wanted to come back to life.

With all it’s failures, the pain, the terrible things that happened on a daily basis, it was still so much better than nothing.

 

That was until somewhere beneath him, he felt something hard. He was standing on his feet.

But… how could he be standing if he had been unconscious? Slowly the feeling of his limbs came back. He tried to wriggle, walk, but none of it worked. He realized that he was standing, but his upper body had been bent forward.

Something was holding him upright.

 

Well, at least his legs.

He was barely touching the ground with his toes, so it felt more like floating.

 

What agitated him the most though, was that even though he now knew that he was awake, he could still neither see, nor hear. Much less speak. He could clearly feel the round ball pressing back against his tongue.

 

His stomach churned. Not out of hunger, which was strange, but because he realized that he was still not at home with Sherlock, or in a hospital for that matter.

Still in the clutches of some psychopath.

 

To his own surprise he would rather see his predicament, like the last time, than to be in literal darkness.

 

He didn’t even think much about his arms anymore, they felt numb, but he could still feel the rope tying his wrists to the elbows and his shoulders being pulled back painfully through the strain.

To have been brought into this position would have been very difficult if he had been wearing clothes, so he deduced that he was once again naked.

 

Not hearing anything made him very nervous, and jumpy, he could have sworn he felt a hand on his back just then.

 

But then there was nothing again for what appeared an eternity.

 

He started to think that he had only imagined it.

 

Suddenly the silence that had surrounded him vanished, being replaced by roaring music, classical music to be exact. He recognized it as “Summer” by Vivaldi.

 

Panic started to flood his mind; he didn’t know what was going on. This was so much stranger than when he woke up before. And he did definitely not like it better.

 

His chest tightened around his lungs, he could barely breathe when he felt a hand on the small of his back.

Now he was definitely sure that it was there.

 

He tried to wriggle, succeeding only in tiptoeing around, trying to keep a little weight off his already aching arms.

 

The hand was sliding up his back, into his hair; John realized that he was shivering. Fear, disgust, everything at once. And all he could do was hang there.

The gag in his mouth, which was keeping him from speaking, was not exactly waterproof either. He could feel how his drool was trickling down his chin.

 

He felt like his eardrums were going to explode the music was so loud, the fast notes thrumming behind his eyes.

 

The roaming hand stayed in his hair for a while, caressing, and ruffling. Not knowing who was touching him, not hearing the footsteps or their breathing, it was maddening.

 

His leg muscles were starting to get sorer by the minute.

 

He tensed when the hand left his hair, slowly trailing down over his spine and fingers were drawing patterns.

 

A shiver went through him. He felt body heat, first at his right side, but it was moving.

 

John felt his breathing hitch, as the person stopped to stand behind him.

This was not good. This was bad.

 

Now there were two hands, sliding down to stop and rest on his pelvis.

 

He started to shake his head, hoping, wishing, that maybe he could at least get rid of, what he now knew were headphones, but they had been secured tightly enough so he would not be able to shake them off.

 

The complete loss of senses, to be deaf, dumb and blind, left him only the sense of touch. Every single touch felt like a thousand needle pricks across his skin.

 

Under the right circumstances this could be pleasurable, very much so, but the person who was doing this to him seemed to know exactly that it would be torturous for John.

 

He couldn’t breathe. The music in his ears, the hands on his body, it was too much to take.

 

One hand left his body, leaving the other on his pelvis. John knew that in this position his arse was very overtly presented and that it could only end in one thing.

 

The hand returned, slick now, and John was sure that he gasped when he felt a finger press into his unprepared entrance. He started to writhe as much as he could, trying to escape the unwelcome intrusion.

 

The nails of the hand, which was still resting on his hip, now dug into his skin.

 

The finger moved inside of him, slowly, scraping at his insides. Another finger was added and John must have groaned. It hurt.

 

He couldn’t even hear himself, not sure what kinds of noises were leaving his gagged mouth, but he didn’t really care.

All he cared about were the now scissoring fingers, moving, worming inside him, pistoning in and out.

He tried to calm himself, to draw in breaths through his nose.

 

A third finger came to the addition, as the fingers were pulled out and thrust in again.

 

John wanted to cry, he felt a sob wringing his throat tight, and he knew that tears were welling up in his eyes, he was almost grateful for the blindfold covering his eyes, keeping from whoever might be watching from seeing his desperation.

 

John would have been relieved when the fingers were removed, if he hadn’t known exactly where this was going to end.

 

The music resounded through his head, the fast notes matching his racing heart.

 

Both hands. Grabbing. Digging nails into his pelvis. Pulling him back.

 

The feeling was strange when he felt the head of a cock against his arsehole. He sobbed, feeling his tears soaking the blindfold. He was shaking, clenching his sphincter, trying with all the strength he had left to keep the unwelcome intrusion out.

 

But then the cock was shoved inside in quick succession, all the way, until John could feel thighs being pressed against his arsecheeks.

 

The pain was overwhelming; it felt like he was being split in two, even though he had been stretched out before.

 

Waves of nausea came over him. The cock slid out of him slowly, it was like John could feel every inch of it, and it just didn’t seem to end.

 

The next thrust threw John forward; he lost contact with the floor, being only held by his restraints on his arms, and the cock moving inside him.

 

John felt the bruising force of the hands on his hips, as the thrusts grew quicker, and deeper. Every time the man drove all the way home.

 

All he wanted was this to be over. Even though he tried not to give this man any further pleasure, he couldn’t help but clench his inner muscles, his body was working against him, and he hated himself for it.

 

He heard the music roaring in his ears coming to its climax, just as he felt the foreign cock inside him pulse. It was like the man heard the music too, timing his thrusts exactly with the rhythm.

 

Revulsion clouded John’s mind as he felt the hot wetness spreading inside him. The man had reached forward with one hand, around John’s neck, pressing hard, taking the little air John was still able to suck in away.

 

The man thrust into John a few last times, coming to completion.

 

John was relieved when he was done, letting go of his throat. John gulped in air as well as he could.

 

He felt humiliated. He didn’t even know if the man who had just raped him was the only one in the room, or if there were other people watching.

That thought filled John with horror anew.

 

Finally the man pulled out, and John could feel how come was leaking out of him, dripping down his thighs.

 

As the song had stopped, silence enveloped John again. His chest was heaving, and it was all he could do not to throw up, or he would suffocate.

 

He hung his head.

 

A thought came into his pain filled mind. He missed Victor.

He couldn’t believe himself, and he only cried harder.

 

Time passed, and he could feel how the come was starting to dry on his thighs and arsehole.

 

At least it was over.

 

He barely felt how he was lowered down, until he was kneeling, his arms still tied.

 

His sobs had subsided to low whimpers, which he could not hear himself, but he could feel them rippling through his chest.

 

And then, there were hands again, gently petting his head, carding through his sandy hair. He almost leaned into the gentle touch, but he reminded himself that whoever was stroking him, probably was the person who had just raped him.

 

He pulled himself together; trying to stop sobbing, stop his eyes from leaking tears and soaking the blindfold.

 

The headphones were pulled away gently. There were still no sounds besides the rustling of clothes in front of him.

 

He wanted to see the person who had done this to him, who had tortured him in ways, he hadn’t even thought possible.

 

He sucked in a deep breath and then held it when he heard the person speak.

 

“Oh Johnny-boy, you are brilliant.”

 

John knew that voice, he had heard it in his ears when he had to walk out to that pool.

A shiver ran through him.

 

The blindfold was taken away, leaving John blinking against the sudden light. When he was able to see normal again he stared up into that all too familiar face.

The dark maniacal eyes, the grin showing white teeth.

 

John gulped around the ball gag.

 

He had been taken by Moriarty.

 

Glaring up at the man he despised most in the world, he felt his heart and mind racing.

 

He watched every move of Moriarty; he was dressed in one of his expensive suits, clean and slick.

 

The psychopath slowly crouched down, his smile never leaving his face.

He leaned forward to whisper into John’s ear, his hot breath crawling over his skin.

 

“Welcome home, pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. You all knew that he was going to turn up sometime, and there you go. :D I am sorry, but it's just so much fun to do to our little John. ^^
> 
> I hope that my creativity won't leave me, because it was kind of hard to get that chapter together. 
> 
> If you see any mistakes, please tell me, I am no native English speaker. Thank you for all the comments and kudos! :D They're my fuel.   
> I love y'all!
> 
> (btw. I am an artist as well, let me know if you want to see some fanart to this story, and if yes, which scene. ^^)


	6. It can always get worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry sorry! I am so sorry this took so long, but I was kind of busy drawing for my artblog on tumblr, if anyone's interested to see what kept me from writing, on you go: http://purrlockholmes.tumblr.com/
> 
> However, I actually finally did finish this chapter, and goodness. All I can say is, I am sorry. 
> 
> Now, enjoy. :)

****

Sherlock looked down at his phone. The experiment he had conducted on this evening had failed miserably. Apparently it was not possible to kill someone with a piece of paper.

He grit his teeth together, and closed his eyes. This was going to throw him back in his case. He did not like to be thrown back.

 

This evening couldn’t possibly get any worse.

 

Throwing money at the cab driver he jumped out of the cab, strutting towards the door with the brass numbers and letter 221b on it.

He pushed the door open letting his eyes wander as he always did.

 

This is when his eyes fell on Mrs Hudson, lying on the floor, blood was trickling down her temple, she had been hit over the head, clearly to incapacitate her.

 

He rushed towards her, kneeling down and checking her pulse. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when he felt the slow, but steady pulse.

 

She whimpered as he shook her gently: “Mrs Hudson. Wake up, you have been struck down.” As he was softly talking to her he was texting Lestrade with his other hand, alerting him, when suddenly a thought struck him.

 

John.

 

Mrs Hudson was waking up, and he was sure that she was alright, so he sprinted up the stairs, to find the door to their flat wide open. The lights were on and everything seemed normal.

 

Or at least it would to a normal person’s eyes.

 

Sherlock saw it all with just one look.

 

John’s phone and Laptop (closed) on the table. Minimal disturbance to the rug on the floor, moved chairs.

There had been a fight.

 

John.

 

He whirled back around to take a closer look at the door. The hinges weren’t in there places anymore, they had been torn out of the wood, leaving splinters sticking out from their actual spot.

 

They had kicked in the door. They had to have been more than one, otherwise John would have been able to defend himself.

 

Sherlock’s scrutinizing eye fell on the phone.

 

John.

 

It looked out of place somehow. Sherlock knew exactly why. John always put his phone screen facing down, it meant that he actually did not want to see whoever was trying to reach him, normally his drunk sister, asking him to pick her up from a pub. Of course it was only subconscious.

 

But now the screen was facing up.

 

Sherlock sat down at the table, taking a closer look at the phone. John had opened a new text message, but there was nothing written.

 

Had he known of the danger? Had he tried to reach Sherlock?

 

_John._

 

Sherlock shook his head, he had no time to think about if’s. John’s life might be depending on it.

 

His long fingers found their way to the lid of the laptop. He had to keep himself from wrenching it open.

 

The screen lit up.

 

Sherlock’s eyes were scanning the letters and numbers which were staring at him from the screen.

 

Far away Sherlock could hear sirens, but all he could do was stare at what he saw on the laptop. His eyes were wide, his jaw clenched.

 

He had been so very wrong. The evening could get so much worse. So bloody much.

 

_**John.**_  

 

* * *

 

John was still incredulous, staring up into those black pits of eyes which were looking at him, with curiosity, and almost amused.

He had so many questions, so things which were whirring around in his head, his which was too small to fit it all. Besides the dull ache in his backside a headache started to form, like a storm cloud, behind his eyes.

 

Jim looked at him, as if he could read his mind he said: “I am sure that you have many questions. Let’s see.”

 

He smirked and stood back up, tapping his finger against his chin. “Which would be the first thing our dear Doctor would ask?”

 

He barely even glanced at John, and somehow John felt like he was in a game show, the tone in which Moriarty spoke highly suggested something of the like.

 

“I suppose he would want to know why.” He threw up his arms as if he’d just won the million pound prize.

 

He smiled at an invisible audience.

 

John really did want to know why. He glared at the madman, expectantly. Hoping to get to hear it.

 

Moriarty slowly let his gaze wander down, to look at John again, and his smile faded. “That is something for another time, on another day.”

 

John nearly groaned when he heard that, he hated not knowing. He hated being in this whole situation, but not knowing why made it even worse.

 

Jim pulled up a chair, straightened his suit, pulled up his pant legs, sat down and then draped his left leg over the right one.

Then he folded his bony hands in his lap. His eyes never left John for a second.

 

But neither did John’s.

 

He had once read that some dog owners only fed their dogs when they turned their eyes away. It was a sign of submission.

 

He had no idea where that thought came from in that moment, but he chose to hold on to it, it was the only thing that made sense.

 

Jim spoke again: “But there are certainly other things you want to know, am I right Johnny-boy?”

 

He tilted his head, and then he made a grimace. He pulled down the corners of his mouth, so far, John was sure they were going to fall off. In return his eyebrows went up high, making his eyes seem even bigger.

 

Then he spoke with a mimicked voice, which was supposed to imitate John: “Daddy, daddy, why am I not hungry, I haven’t eaten in so long.”

 

John was surprised, it was true, he wasn’t hungry, he had been the last time he was awake. Why wasn’t he now?

Sure this wasn’t the question he wanted answered most, but it was something, and something was better than nothing.

 

Jim’s face evened out again, as he spoke in his own voice, the Irish lilt ever so present.

 

“Well, pet, since I did not want to wait, until you woke up to feed you, I just did it while you were asleep. We just shoved little tube up and in your nose, aaaaaaaall the way down to your tummy. Then we pumped some yummy liquefied food in. And this is why he is no longer hungry.”

 

As he was talking a smile came back onto his face, and he moved his hands to emphasize his meaning. It was like he was talking to a child.

 

John swallowed around the gag in his mouth. As a doctor he knew that a Nasogastric, if applied inaccurately could find it’s way down through the trachea instead of the oesophagus, which would then when the food was introduced result in pneumonia and then death.

 

If John was honest with himself, he’d rather died during the procedure, instead of waking up to this nightmare.

 

Unfortunately Jim had probably no problems to find a capable doctor, who would perform such an invasion, if put under the right threats and pressure.

 

John huffed out a breath through his nose, hoping it would sound ridiculing. He wanted to show Jim, that his fight was far from over.

 

Jim raised a single eyebrow, something almost like surprise flickered across his face, but was gone as fast as it had come, when the second eyebrow joined the other, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down once again.

 

“But Daddy, why am I not with uncle Victor anymore?” This whole scene was so grotesque, John almost laughed at the thought, but he didn’t. He wanted to know.

 

Jim must have seen the interest spark in John’s eyes, as the grimace turned into a grin.

 

“Well. This is a little more difficult. And takes some more time, so, by all means, make yourself comfortable.”

 

He winked at John. All John could think was: ‘Ha. Ha. Very funny, you have no one to make you laugh, so you do it yourself. Good job.’

 

John jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

He had both of Jim’s hand in his field of view, they were resting in his lap, as his grin grew wider.

 

This was making John uncomfortable in more than just one way. This meant that there was another person in the, since this conversation had started, maybe even before that. He shuddered at the thought of having been watched while being raped.

 

A wave of nausea crashed against him. The wave turned into a tsunami as the hand slowly slid down his back, between his bruised arse cheeks.

 

His eyes were wide, staring at Moriarty, he couldn’t help it, he wanted to do nothing else but glare, but he couldn’t, the hand was joined by a second one, and his cheeks were being pulled apart.

 

He gasped when he felt a slick finger being pressed into his already abused hole. The finger slowly stroked in and out, John tried to look back, to see who was doing this to him, but faster than he could see, Moriarty was on his knees before John, holding his head between his hands. He was so close, he could feel his breath on his skin.

 

This was enough to make him screw his eyes shut.

 

The finger was now pushing in and pulling out, slowly, scraping against his sensitive muscles.

 

It was torture, and it only got worse when the second and the third finger were added.

 

“Look at me now Johnny, I want to see your eyes.” But John did not want to see the pitch-black pits, which would stare back if he did open his eyes.

 

He tried to shake his head, but the grip on his head was iron.

 

All his effort was for nothing when the fingers were pulled out and were replaced by something bigger.

 

John’s eyes flew open as the cold thing was shoved into him.

All he could see was lust, desire and greed in those eyes. The greed, it was so great, so overwhelming, it almost threw John back.

He gulped in breaths as he tried to cope.

 

Moriarty so close. Smiling. Licking his lips, as if he was ready to devour John. The pain in his arse. It felt like he was being pulled apart, and at the same time pressed together, made to implode.

 

He gasped, sweat was trickling down his nose, spit was dripping from his chin, and he couldn’t help but still look into those eyes.

 

It got worse. The thing, which John was now sure was a dildo, had found its place, and sat there, jammed between his inner walls.

 

He felt the tip edging on his prostate when he moved.

 

Moriarty finally let go of John’s head, and sat back, cross-legged, on the floor now. All he said was: “Flip it.”

 

And then John’s eyes rolled back into his head. The dildo in his arse started to vibrate, nudging against John’s prostate.

 

A moan escaped from his lips. Involuntarily his cock started to harden. He damned his own body for betraying him.

 

He was almost sobbing when the hand returned, brushing a cock ring over his now rock hard cock.

 

The buzzing of the vibrator was relentless and he had to bring up all his energy to look at Jim, sitting there, all satisfied.

 

The madman spoke again, and John had to concentrate to make sure he could hear what he was saying.

 

“Now pet, this is how this is going to go. I will tell you all about dear Victor, and whenever I think I reach a highlight I will put up the setting of the dildo in your arse. The vibration will go up and up. And I am sure that you will be begging for release in the end.

 

And you can’t believe how much I am longing to hear your first words to me, as my slave, be ‘please, let me come’.”

 

John could not believe this was happening, he was moaning, and gasping, but he tried to stay present, and not get lost in the unrequited pleasure, which was pulsing through him.

 

He looked at Jim, who was smiling wider than ever before.

 

“And on we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry! D: I know, I am a terrible person, doing such things to John, and then only write so little...  
> If there are any mistakes, please let me know, plus, if someone would like to beta, I would be so happy to have someone! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are LOVED and ADORED! :) Let me know what you think, even if it is that I am a piece of scum.


	7. Too much information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really really sorry that I am so slow. But please do take into account that I have a lot of stuff to do, and that my main language is not English. 
> 
> I can already say that it might take some time till the next chapter, since I am now in my last year of school, and there are a lot of exams and papers to write. 
> 
> But I will try to squeeze in one or the other chapter in between. And please don't think that I am giving up on this fic, even though I know that I suck at writing, I am quite fond of this story line so far. 
> 
> Now enjoy! :D

Moriarty smiled at John, who was desperately trying to keep himself from unravelling.

 

He stared at Jim, trembling in his bonds, praying that Jim would be a quick storyteller, so that this whole demise would be over as soon as possible, but how he knew Moriarty, he had a flair for the dramatic, and would probably try to make this as torturous and long as he could.

 

“So, where should we start? Right. How about how all of this got set in motion?”

 

He grinned, his eyes never leaving John’s.

 

“I came across that site a while ago, maybe about six months. I was really intrigued at first, all these men, ready to get purchased, ready to serve. I went through the trouble of paying for one or two. But they just were not what I had in mind. So I got rid of them.”

 

John gulped, trying not to think about what ‘getting rid of’ meant for Moriarty.

 

“I soon found the option of, how do we say, propose them another pet. One they could make a lot of money with.” He looked at John, who was kneeling there, squirming under his gaze and around the vibrating dildo.

 

“Of course that was you.” He pointed at John with the remote control and raised his eyebrows. John gasped around the gag in his mouth when he felt the vibration getting a bit faster.

 

Moriarty continued like nothing strange was going on, like he was having conversation over tea with an old friend.

 

“They thought it was a brilliant idea, but told me to be patient, since you were such a high-profile target. Can you believe it? They told me to be patient.”

He was practically grinding his teeth.

 

“Well. I was for sometime. I mean, a few weeks. But then I had enough.”

 

He leaned back a bit. Making an effect full pause.

 

“Ever since the pool, I had a hard time getting you out of my head. I wasn’t interested in you that much, until…” He leaned forward again, now only a few inches from John’s face, which was now covered in beads of sweat.

 

“…you put your arm around my neck, trying to protect Sherlock. What a loyal little pet. You know, I could see in Sherlock’s eyes how shocked and moved he was at the same time. And that was something new. I had been watching him, even before you got to know him, and nobody”, he reached out with his left hand and let one finger trail over John’s nose, it was shiny with the accumulated sweat, “nobody ever got to him like you did.”

 

He smiled before he stuck the glistening finger in his mouth, sucking it.

 

“In that moment I knew that I had to have you.”

 

John stared, his eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“You are probably now asking yourself, why I went through the trouble of proposing you to the people who are running the trafficking ring. I would have taken you myself, but, well, it was just more fun this way.” He grinned, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

 

“Remember the email you got? Yeah. I sent you that. Impatience. But it did work in the end. They realized that they had to move sooner than they had planned, or their whole plan would have been ruined. I would have loved to see the way that you were manhandled. Thank goodness I still get to see it, even though it’s slightly diminished through the fact that it’s not live.”

 

 

John had to let it sink in for a moment that Moriarty had just told him that there were probably cameras in their flat, which had been recording every move John had made.

 

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as there was a very intense friction against his prostate from the vibrating dildo.

 

“Johnny boy, eyes on me on all times. I don’t want to cut off your eyelids, even though I will if you don’t keep them open, so that I can see those beautiful blue’s of yours.”

 

John’s eyes were open in the next second. He didn’t want to lose his eyelids. Obviously.

 

“The next step makes me kind of angry, even now when I’m thinking about it.” He pointed the remote at John and glee spread over his face as he put the vibration up one setting.

 

John groaned at the change, even though the dildo had been thoroughly lubricated, he started to feel the friction against his sensitive walls. He bit back a sob, making his teeth hurt as they sank into the rubber of the gag.

 

Moriarty pretended he didn’t notice and continued with his story, a bit louder and angrier now.

 

“The moment I saw your picture on the site, bound so beautifully, I felt like I had already won. You looked so perfect, and instead of betting right away, I took a moment to enjoy your state, and let the feeling sink in that you would be mine very soon.”

 

He scowled. “Someone was faster than me. They bet their money and then you were sold immediately. I suppose you can understand how angry I was.”

 

Moriarty shifted lightly, a bit closer to John, who felt like his cock was going to fall off any moment, he was so hard, and so close, but the cock ring kept him from coming. He felt how a single tear had slipped from the corner of his eye, slowly running down his cheek.

 

“Of course you know who bought you, since you spent some of your time in his… care. Victor Trevor.” Moriarty spat the name out.

 

Victor. As John was trembling and shaking on the floor, bound, being used by Jim Moriarty, he looked back on his short time with Victor almost with longing.

 

“I quickly found and made contact with him.” Jim was grinding his teeth. “I threatened him. He swore to me that he hadn’t taken you yet. Hadn’t stuck his dick into you.” The setting went up another setting, and this time John cried out. It was too much to take. He was breathing heavily, still looking at Moriarty.

 

He had had no idea that there were dildos with so many settings.

 

“Now, I told him, that if he lied to me, that I would find him and chop his dick right off and leave him to die. He handed you over, thankfully, but I want you to tell me now, did he fuck you?”

John was taken completely off guard by this question. He was gasping for breath, staring at Moriarty with what must have been a very quizzical look on his face because Moriarty rolled his eyes.

 

“Did he, at any point of your stay with him, put his dick”, he pointed towards his crotch, “inside of you, any of your openings? Even if it was only your ear.”

 

The knowledge that the man would die, if John told the truth was very strange, on one hand, he had raped John, but also, he was a lot less worse than Moriarty. What should he do?

 

It was hard to think with his blood all in his cock instead of his brain, where he needed it more right now, but he still decided against sealing Victor’s fate.

 

Slowly he shook his head.

 

Moriarty sighed and sat back a bit. There was a pause in which only the buzzing was audible.

He looked away from John, sighing again. Then he looked back at John, shaking his head, pouting.

 

“Liar.” John’s heart skipped a beat.

 

“Every man had his price, even the people who work for Victor Trevor. The man who brought you to your cell after the blowing”, Jim scrunched up his nose in disgust, “told me everything. Just before my best man put a bullet through his skull. And of course Victor Trevor was relieved of one cock.”

 

John gulped.

 

“I’m disappointed in you, John. I thought we could start our relationship honest. Of course you will be punished for that lie. Not now though. Now I want to hear four words. You know which ones. I’ll take off that gag now, and then, when you said the four words, my assistant will take off that cock ring and let you do what you asked for. I’m sure you’re harder than you’ve ever been before.”

 

Jim smiled cruelly, put down the remote beside him, then he stood and started to unfasten the buckles of the gag on the back of John’s head.

 

He knew that the words Moriarty did want to hear were ‘Please, let me come’.

 

John’s mind was reeling. He was aching so much. He needed to come. It was more than a need. It felt like compulsion.

 

As soon as the gag left his mouth, he worked his sore jaw, trying to get a bit of flexibility, and he sucked in deep breaths. He looked up at the grinning Moriarty.

 

“Please…”

 

He swallowed.

“…go fuck yourself.”

 

What? Had he just really said that? Had he just really told Jim Moriarty, the man who held him captive, who had already raped him, and had him restrained, without any hope of defending himself, to go fuck himself?

 

Apparently he had.

 

He revelled in the look on Moriarty’s face. Total surprise and shock.

 

But only for about a second. Next thing he knew was how the dildo was wrenched out of his arsehole, tearing at the sensitive flesh.

 

John cried out in agony, and hung his head, sobbing. The cock ring stayed in its place. At least the pain helped distract him a bit from his still throbbing and for release aching cock.

 

He saw out of the corner of his eye how Moriarty crouched down. Then he felt how his chin was tilted up, and he looked into the black eyes of the maniac. There was anger. John could feel it seep into him through the stare and the fingers that were clutching his chin.

 

Even though Jim seethed, he was almost trembling from anger; his voice was as calm as ever.

 

“Don’t you think for a second that this little act just won you anything. It might take a while for you to adjust, but soon you will learn that it is in your best interest to follow my instructions.”

 

Then something happened that John had expected the least. He would have thought Jim might scream, hit him, anything violent really.

 

But instead he gripped John’s jaw even tighter and then pressed his lips against John’s. 

 

Moriarty’s lips were soft, but demanding. The kiss was rough, and too short for John to realize what was happening, otherwise he might have tried to bite.

 

But he was too dumbstruck. The next moment Moriarty was gone, only the taste of cinnamon gum was left behind on John’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. Poor John. :( Since I am a bit of a sadist in this fic, it will not get any better any time soon. I will try to integrate a bit of Sherlock's storyline too, but like I already said, I suck. So, it will suck too. 
> 
> Thanks to you all who are still reading this story, even though I am slow as hell, boring and terrible. :) You are the best! 
> 
> Ps: If anyone would like to beta, or brit-pick, I would be so grateful!!! Thank you!


	8. Unabashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... For taking so long and for what's about to happen in this chapter. I don't know what happened. I'm really sorry.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He was still staring at the picture when he heard Lestrade’s shouting from downstairs, when he heard him cursing, when he heard him telling the paramedics to take care of Mrs Hudson, when he heard his heavy footsteps rush up the stairs, when he stepped into the flat.

 

His eyes were glued to the screen; he couldn’t believe that it was his flatmate he was seeing before him. His best friend. His John.

 

“Sherlock. What the hell happened?” Lestrade’s voice was firm, and demanding as he stepped behind Sherlock, but he faltered when his eyes fell onto the same picture, that had Sherlock unmoving.

 

Sherlock could hear Lestrade huff out a breath. “Oh my god.”

 

They were now both looking at the picture of their mutual friend. Never had Sherlock thought that he would see John like this.

 

He looked utterly debauched. The red rope was cutting into his skin, Sherlock could see that it was tightly wound, and that even the trained soldier he knew wouldn’t have been able to escape them. The red ball gag in John’s mouth made him look obscene, and the look in his eyes, it was like a slap to the face.

 

It was obvious that the picture had been made in a professional setting. The lighting showed John’s skin off, the scar on his left shoulder looked like it was part of the whole thing. Like it had been set just for this one picture.

 

It was beautiful.

 

Sherlock mentally kicked himself for thinking that. Even if it only was for a second. This was not the moment to find this horrid situation something visually pleasing.  

 

He shook his head as to get the picture out of his mind. He grit his teeth, then he was finally able to lift his hand and slam the laptop shut.

 

Pressing the heels into his eyes he tried to calm himself. Being emotionally invested didn’t help with his thinking process whatsoever.

 

He almost jumped when he felt Lestrade press a comforting hand against his shoulder, he had completely forgotten that the DI had been standing behind him and had also seen John like… like _that_.

 

A shiver ran through him. This was a new level of bad entirely. John had been taken before; he had been tied up before. But this was different. Never had it been on a sexual level. And now he had plunged head forward into the slave trade. As a slave. And he had already been sold, that much had been clear on the site, and that much he had been able to figure out before his eyes had gotten stuck to the picture.

 

This had never happened to him before. He always knew what to do. Always had a solution ready in his head. But this time it was like his brain had been wiped clean. Empty. Nothing was left behind.

 

It was infuriating.

 

Lestrade’s hand was still lying on his shoulder, Sherlock knew, it was because he didn’t know what to say to make Sherlock feel any better.

 

And somehow he was grateful that he wasn’t alone right now.

 

He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Calming his mind and getting ready. Distancing himself from the case. At least as far as he could.

 

His brain would be no use if it was clouded by guilt and questions about what could have been if he hadn’t left tonight.

 

Finally he could think. He needed to see this as a case. He knew he wouldn’t be able to forget altogether that John was the victim in this scenario, but he also knew that he would be able to work best and find John the fastest if he shut out his emotions. And so he did.

 

He opened the laptop again. Looking at the picture once more and gulping. Then he went to work on finding whose IP address it was who had bought, _yes, bought,_ his best friend.

 

His fingers flew across the keys as he worked, absentmindedly he told Greg to call Mycroft. This was too important to leave his brother out of it, just because he was an annoying twat. John’s life and more was at stake. And he would not rest until he found John.

 

* * *

 

The IP address had been a full success for a few hours Sherlock thought he would be able to take John home. But that all changed when they found Victor Trevor and his men maimed and dead.

 

Sherlock was sure that the severed cock lying beside Trevor’s body was anything but good news.

They had searched the mansion, and Sherlock’s heart had dropped when they had found the dungeon with all the apparatuses and toys.

 

Finding skin cells, saliva and hairs that were from John didn’t make the procedure any easier. He had been here, but he was gone again. He had slipped right through Sherlock’s fingers.

 

And this time there was no sign of where he might have been taken. Unless Lestrade’s people would find anything at all, a fibre of some sort, DNA, or anything that could lead them to whom had John now, there was nothing he could do.

 

Sherlock was at the end of his rope. 32 hours had passed since he had found that John was missing. And the last clear sign of life was the picture of John, which Sherlock was now staring at once again. At home, the flat felt empty without his friend.

 

There was no lead whatsoever. Sherlock wanted to rip his hair out he was so frustrated, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good, so he settled for staring at the latest picture of John and hating himself.

 

The more he looked at it, the harder it got to turn away his attention from the other details of the picture. When he had first seen it, he had only glanced at the whole of it all. The ropes and the gag, and also of course, John’s cock, which was lying between his bound thighs.

 

Now that he was alone he had time to take it all in. Maybe, just maybe he would find something in the picture to tell him where he had been first, before being bought. He had also tried to track that IP address, and when he didn’t manage it, Mycroft’s people tried. But even they couldn’t manage. Apparently the people who ran the site, did not want to be found.

 

Sherlock licked his lips, his eyes sweeping over the picture again, and again. And more often than not, his gaze faltered whenever he passed John’s cock.

 

What was he doing? This was so fucking wrong.

 

* * *

 

After Moriarty had left it didn’t take long for him to feel the already familiar feeling of a needle being plunged into his neck.

 

He welcomed the darkness, happy to get away from reality, sweet oblivion was so much better than what was happening to him. So he took it with gratitude.

 

When he woke up, he half expected to find himself somewhere cold, damp and dirty. Hungry and filthy. And free to move around. At least a bit.

 

But it wasn’t how he expected. He was clean and not hungry at all. And he was still in the same room as before. But he wasn’t tied up like he was before anymore.

 

He was tied to some sort of a leather-padded sawhorse. His wrists and ankles were tied securely with leather cuffs. And much to his discomfort he was still naked. He groaned at the stretch of his arms and legs. He hung his head, soon realizing that his mouth was held open. But this time he could breathe freely. But when there was drool threatening to fall from his lips, and he tried to close his mouth, he was met with unrelenting metal against his teeth.

 

Apparently Moriarty had a thing for gags. And toys, as it dawned on him when he wiggled as much as he could. He could feel something shifting inside of him. It wasn’t too big to hurt, but it still felt uncomfortable.

 

He tugged against the cuffs again, sighing, and furrowing his brow. Where the hell was Sherlock? He was supposed to have found him by now. But he was still tied up in Jim Moriarty’s clutches. He pressed his eyes shut again, willing himself not to be too angry with his best friend. After all it was Moriarty they were dealing with, as much of a genius as Sherlock himself.

 

He had relaxed in his position, but he suddenly tensed when he heard a door open and close behind him. He reacted on instinct, and tried to turn his head to the source of the sound, but as soon as he had turn away a bit he was choking. Quickly he turned his head back again. The choking chain, which was lying around his neck, had gone unnoticed up until then.

He didn’t lift his head when he saw the shoes approaching the sawhorse. But he immediately recognised them as Moriarty’s.

 

John tried to swallow, but instead another big drop of his spit fell to the floor. Right in front of Moriarty’s shoes.

 

“Look at you Johnny. I just love seeing you like this. You, who are normally in control of everything, every little move you make, helpless. Drooling all over.”

 

John tried to pull away from the hand that was carding through his hair, but the choking chain, which he had still no idea where it was coming from, quickly put him back in place, having to endure the scraping of fingernails against his scalp.

 

Moriarty’s voice sounded almost giddy and John really didn’t want to find out why that was. Apparently Moriarty had forgotten about the incident from before, at least for the moment.

 

The hand was removed and John watched as more of Moriarty came into view as he sat down on the floor, just out of reach of John’s falling drool.

 

His eyes were wide and there was a huge grin on his face. He lifted his eyebrows and spoke with the Irish lilt, which made John’s insides turn: “Guess what I found.”

 

John didn’t want to know. He looked at Jim defiantly; knowing full well that closing his eyes would be no good.

 

Jim had his legs crossed, and he leaned back, putting his weight on his arms. The grin hadn’t faded or diminished at all.

 

“So, I was watching the feed of the camera’s in your flat, because I really wanted to see how desperate you were, and how hard you fought when they got you. It was lovely, and I had a really nice wank. Ever the strong army doctor. You really did fight with all your might from what I could see. Three men after all, are too much to handle, even for you. And for a very short moment I thought you’d get away.”

 

Jim leaned forward, looking up at John from the floor. He grinned. “But then of course, you being tied up and gagged in my dungeon is a very mighty spoiler, telling that you would not get away.”

 

John scrunched up his nose, glaring down at Jim. He felt humiliated and he knew that it must have been a very strange sight. A man tied down, stark naked, a plug shoved in his arse, a spider gag in his mouth and drooling all over the floor, but a look on his face like he was about to kill someone.

 

Jim showed his teeth.

 

“Three men, manhandling you.” Jim groaned. John tried to swallow once again, out of reflex. “Believe me, that was a sight I won’t forget all too soon. I wonder what it would be like to see three men take you. One shoving it up your arse, the other one fucking your face, and the third one standing aside, waiting to take his turn.”

A dark smile came on Moriarty’s face. John’s eyes widened.

 

“Who knows, maybe I’ll find a few suitable volunteers. But for now it will be just me.”

 

John would have breathed out in relief, if Moriarty had been less of a burden. He wasn’t even sure if he wouldn’t prefer three men to Moriarty.

 

“Anyway, back to the point. After these three lovely men were gone, with you in their van, I continued watching.” He averted his eyes from John for a moment, as if he felt ashamed.

 

“It was such a beautiful sight, Sherlock finding the flat empty, without you. I can tell you, I went all giddy and tingly inside. Let me show you.” With that his gaze was trained back on John’s restrained form, and one arm was raised in the air, waiting.

 

John’s heart raced faster when he saw a second pair of shoes out of the corner of his eye. Was that the man who had fucked him with the dildo before? Without realising it, he started to tremble, as he strained to look up and see a face, but he couldn’t without choking himself, so he only got to see a pair of legs and then two deft hands, handing Moriarty a laptop.

 

Jim took the computer without looking up, and then the feet went out of John’s field of view again.

 

He had started breathing raggedly, but he was calming himself again, as the danger was currently gone.

 

His eyes wandered to see Moriarty with the laptop on his lap, the screen turned to John.

 

It was like the breath had been sucked out of him. On the screen he could see the flat, and there was Sherlock, storming in, whirling around.

 

The twinge in his heart he felt now was worse than anything else he had endured since he had been taken.

 

Sherlock looked desperate, chaotic. John couldn’t help but feel bad for his friend. He watched how Sherlock looked at his phone, studying it, and there was the deducing look in those pale eyes, which John knew so well.

 

The long fingers flew to open the laptop and John could see from the angle of the camera, how Sherlock slowly scrolled through the numbers John had also seen himself.

And then there was the faint picture. Even though it was far away, the quality of the camera was so good, that John recognised himself on that picture. Tied up, how he was when he first had come to, in front of the cameras.

 

And John could see how Sherlock’s composure crumbled. It was heart breaking.

 

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anything else.

 

Jim’s high-pitched voice made him snap his eyes open again. “Oh Johnny-boy, don’t look away now. I was just getting to my favourite bit.”

 

John glanced at Jim, who was observing John’s every motion and expression. Apparently the feed had jumped to a later time.

 

It was Sherlock, sitting on the couch, the laptop on his lap. The point of view changed. So there were more than just one camera in their flat. It showed Sherlock from behind and above. Just so that the screen was visible. There was the picture again. John shivered.

 

He watched how Sherlock just looked and studied the picture.

 

John wanted to ask why Moriarty was showing him this when Sherlock finally moved. It was a subtle movement; he pushed the laptop farther down, so that it was resting on his thighs, almost on his knees.

  
The camera angle changed again, now he could see Sherlock’s profile again.

 

John didn’t understand. But then he felt his eyes widen. Sherlock’s right hand slowly moved from the keyboard to his groin.

 

Drool was running down John’s chin, as his brow furrowed. What was Sherlock doing?

 

The long, nimble fingers John knew so well, he had seen so often, were rubbing against a bulge that was protruding from the thin fabric of the pyjama bottoms Sherlock was wearing.

 

John’s mind was reeling as he watched how the hand pushed down the waistband of the trousers, to reveal Sherlock’s erection.

 

John whimpered. This could not be real. Moriarty must have tampered with the footage somehow. John’s eyes were glued to the screen. Sherlock’s hand was now holding the long and elegant cock. He watched how Sherlock slowly started to pump his erection, the camera zoomed in, and then he see a drop of precome glistening on the top of the head of Sherlock’s cock.

 

John watched how Sherlock’s mouth fell open, and like out of nowhere there was suddenly sound. He could hear how Sherlock was moaning.

 

With horror John watched how Sherlock’s eyes never left the screen of the laptop on his thighs. His hand was moving faster and was joined by the second one, which delved deeper down into the trousers, and John could only speculate, as he saw the hand moving underneath the fabric, that Sherlock was massaging his bollocks.

 

The moaning and groaning was so clear, it was as if it was happening in the same room as John.

 

John’s stomach clenched with nausea, mind racing, as was his heart.

 

Sherlock’s fist clenched tighter around the shaft, and then with a sudden shout Sherlock came. John saw the white come spurt, over Sherlock’s hand and his stomach. And John was sure that it was his name that he heard when Sherlock spent himself.

 

John could see Sherlock’s chest heaving, and he heard him pull in deep breaths. That was the last he saw, before Jim shut the laptop.

 

The smug look on Jim’s face made John become self aware again, and just now he felt wetness on his cheeks. He had started to cry without even realising.

 

He sobbed, and sucked in a deep breath.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, and Jim let him. It took a long time for John to process what he had just seen. His best friend, who was supposed to be looking for him, had just wanked and orgasmed to a picture of John, tied up, gagged and helpless.

 

This could not be real. Finally he found the strength in himself to look at Moriarty again. He couldn’t muster up the force to glare, or even to look angry. All he could manage was a desperate, pleading look.

 

Moriarty looked back at him. Completely neutral.

 

He didn’t say anything, and John could see the neutrality slipping from Moriarty’s face. A smile started to tug at his lips.

 

He tilted his head to the side. “I always knew Sherlock Holmes had a cock. I was only wondering when he would use it.” He made a pause to let the smile bloom completely on his face. “Now I know.”

 

* * *

 

Had Moriarty not shut the laptop, then John would have seen how Sherlock tucked himself back into his trousers. Only to pause for a second, and then to throw the laptop, which was lying on his thighs, across the room, causing it to shatter. And then he would have seen how Sherlock would have fallen to his knees, to hide his face behind his hands, and to sob unabashedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	9. A new participent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! I'M SO SLOW!
> 
> Enjoy! :D

John had never felt so betrayed in his entire life. How could Sherlock have done this to him, his supposed best friend?

 

Nauseous from what he’d just witnessed, he tried to calm his breathing, which was difficult, lying on his stomach as he was.

Moriarty stood, slowly, and John thought he saw that he was trembling. But it surely was not with fear. But clearly with joy and anticipation. The bony fingers drew patterns on John’s back as Moriarty walked around him.

 

“I wonder. What would happen if we sent some pretty pictures to our Sherlock? Maybe you all tied up again, with a bow on top? What do you think? Does he have a favourite colour? He seemed to like you in red…” His voice had a thoughtful tinge in it. The glee soaked his words.

 

John shook his head. He would rather not have pictures of him taken and sent out, on one hand because it would be humiliating, and on the other hand, because he was afraid of what Sherlock would do. He might even enjoy them.

 

He tried to plead, with his mouth stuck far open: “’Lease! Don’ eng ic’urs!”

 

Moriarty quickly came around again, squatting down so he could look at John’s face, his black eyes wide and dark with lust. “What was that Johnny? Was that a please I heard?”

 

He twisted his head so that his ear was turned to John. “Was it?” He almost hissed the words.

 

John couldn’t help it. He would do anything so Jim would not send any pictures. He breathed in deeply and then repeated himself: “’Lease, don’ eng ic’urs.”

 

Jim turned back to look at John with a scowl on his face, slowly shaking his head. “That won’t do. I can barely understand you like this.” His hands reached around John’s head to unbuckle the gag.

 

Before Jim took it out completely though he said: “I want you to repeat that for me, would you? And a ‘daddy’ for good measure, how does that sound?” A cruel grin adorned his childlike features.

 

John nodded. Jim slowly took the gag out, careful as not to rip it out from John’s teeth. He looked overly exited, his eyes flitting all over John’s face, as if he was looking at a new toy, waiting to see if it could do something special.

 

Working his jaw to relax it was John’s first act. Then he swallowed. Parting his lips to speak: “Please, don’t send pictures.”

 

Jim’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, the smile disappearing from his face. “I was promised something else, Johnny.”

 

There was a knot in his throat. He didn’t want to, every fibre of his body was straining against that one word. He gritted his teeth and glared at Jim. “Please. Daddy.”

 

Jim’s face lit up almost instantaneously. “There we go. Who’s a good boy?”

 

His hand ruffled through John’s hair, almost like he was petting and praising a dog. All that he needed now was to be fed with a bone shaped treat.

 

“I really do like you calling me daddy John. I’ll have that more often.” He stood again, and walked behind John. The spider gag lay forgotten on the floor before John.

 

A cold hand made it’s way down John’s spine, making the army doctor shiver in his bonds.

 

He had to know: “So, will you? Not send him pictures?”

Tutting and chuckling sounded from behind him. “I didn’t promise you anything, Johnny-boy. And you’re only making it harder on yourself by not following the rules. It’s daddy for you.

And when I think about it, there’s still a pending punishment. You know, for the swearing…”

 

John’s eyes went wide. He had almost forgotten about that. Oh god. In hindsight it was definitely not a good thing to do.

 

“Please Jim! Daddy…” The hand on his back stilled. “Yeeeeees, my dear?”, he sing-songed.

 

He shut his eyes tightly. “Please, you can punish me some other way. Just don’t send any pictures. Please, daddy.”

 

He felt Jim’s breath on his shoulder blades, and then he placed soft kiss right at the base of John’s neck. He could feel Moriarty smiling into his skin.

 

He supressed a shudder. “If you’re a good boy now, I’ll see what I can do about that.”

 

John swallowed. He could feel the chain against his Adams apple. He clenched his hands into fists. He would not swear at Moriarty again. That would only play into what he wanted.

 

He’d rather be gagged again, so he would not curse or have to call this psychopath ‘daddy’.

 

Jim’s mouth disappeared, and then there were his hands, sliding down John’s flanks. They came to a rest on his arse cheeks. The fingers dug into the flesh, kneading the cheeks. John huffed out a breath. But he told himself not to make a sound.

His stomach flipped when the thing inside him moved. One of Moriarty’s hands had started to pull it out, and push it back in slowly, dragging it alongside the walls.

It was lubricated, and John came to the conclusion that it had to be an anal plug.

 

“Daddy is asking himself how he wants his boy today. I would rather like to use that sweet mouth of yours, but then I would not be able to hear all the delicious sounds I’m drawing from you.”

 

John had immediately snapped his mouth shut, making his teeth clack.

 

The chuckle, which was audible, made John shiver. The plug kept moving in and out; it was far too short to nudge against his prostate, so every pull was not enjoyable in the least.

 

“So I think I’m going to fuck you.” The statement was short, but still there was so much eagerness in it.

 

Without thinking John tried to look over his shoulder, trying to see what was happening as the plug was drawn completely out.

 

The chain pulled taught around his neck, making him choke and gurgle.

 

This was terrible. Knowing what was coming, not being able to do anything about it, and not being able to see it. So he hung his head, heart racing and waiting for the inevitable.

 

“I really do enjoy seeing your face though. What could we do about that?” A finger pushed into him, fucking him. It was slick from the previous lubrication.

 

“Oh yes. I have an idea. What do you think of a mirror? Wouldn’t you like that? Maybe seeing yourself tied up has a similar effect on you, just as it has on Sherly.”

 

As a second finger was pushed in, John tried to keep his composure, and shook his head. Breathless he fought to speak: “Don’t. I-I don’t want it! D-Daddy!”

 

“But I do, Johnny. And so it shall be.” John opened his eyes briefly, to see how a mirror was rolling towards them; it was big enough for him to see all of himself and Jim, standing behind him. It was slightly tilted, so that he could see Moriarty now working three fingers in and out of him. He dropped his head again. Shaking all over. The fingertips inside him brushed against his prostate. It came as a surprise.

A whimper escaped his lips.

 

He felt his cock hardening, hanging between his legs.

 

The distraction was so great, he didn’t even ask himself how the mirror had come to stand before him.

 

He glanced up again, seeing himself, helpless, tied down like a wild animal. He had been wrong. It was worse being able to see what Jim was doing.

The three well lubricated fingers were pulled out with a squelching sound, and Moriarty moved to open his belt.

 

John’s eyes were like glued to Jim’s hands. The bony fingers pushed down the fly and took out a hard pale cock.

 

He had started to shake his head again, without realising. And quiet “no’s” had started to pour out.

 

The mirror was positioned just so that he could see a bit of what the maniac was doing, but long not all of it.

 

He whelped when a cock ring was pushed down onto the base of his cock. “We don’t want our boy coming without permission, now do we? He has to earn it fair and square.”

 

The chain around his neck kept him from trying to see more. He could feel and see Moriarty’s cock press against his slicked hole.

 

Jim’s voice was ragged as he said: “Here we go.” He patted John’s right arse cheek.

 

John had had his teeth clenched tight up until then, but he couldn’t keep back. “Stop! S-Stop it!”

 

He felt how a fistful of his hair was grabbed and his head was yanked back. The chain closed around his neck, and his eyes went wide as he looked in the mirror. Fighting for breath.

 

Moriarty’s cock slid in inch for inch, relentless, his right hand was tangled in John’s hair, the other gripping his hip with bruising force. He was leaning forward, so that he could look into John’s eyes through the mirror. A smile was on his face. And his pupils were blown wide with arousal.

 

“My, my. Look at you.” The words were hissed into John’s left ear. “I could look at us like this all day.” He cocked his head and pulled John’s to the side, baring his throat. John tried to scream when he felt teeth sink into the sensitive flesh.

His windpipe was being crushed with the chain.

 

At the same time he felt how Moriarty pushed in the last bit, now seated completely inside of John. He closed his eyes. His lungs and brain were now screaming for air. His hands were flailing fruitlessly in their bonds.

 

How nice it would be if it were over now. A few more seconds and he might never wake up again.

 

His head was dropped. Air flooded his lungs. He had hoped too soon.

 

Coughing for air, he felt through a haze how the hand, which had been just gripping his hair, found its place on his hip.

 

“Don’t think I’m going to let you get away so easily Johnny-boy.”

 

Moriarty pulled slowly out, and when John opened his eyes just a bit, he could see how Jim was watching himself. A small self-satisfied smile was on his lips.

 

Without a warning he slammed his cock back into John, down to the root. John had just caught himself before screaming. He bit down on his teeth so much it hurt.

 

Jim was now setting up a steady rhythm, fast and hard. “Oh Johnny!” He was breathing hard. “No need to hold back, I’ll hear you scream again sooner or later. I love the little gasps you make.”

 

John looked up to glare at Jim, but his eyes fell closed when the cock inside him brushed against his prostate. His jaw went slack and an unwanted whimper escaped.

 

“See, isn’t too bad…”, his hands wandered up his back to come to rest on his shoulders, “…when you just take it.”

 

Fingers tightened on his shoulders, pulling him back onto Jim’s cock. It felt like he was being split in two. But as soon as there was pain, there was also pleasure rippling through him, from every brush against his prostate.

 

He couldn’t help the sounds he was making now. He was gasping and whimpering. It was too much, it felt so good, but he also knew how wrong it was. If only it would be over soon.

 

Moriarty’s fingernails dug into his flesh as he pounded into him, his breathing ragged and hot above John.

 

“Tell me what you need John. Ask me for it, and I might give it to you.”

 

John didn’t want to ask, but he had to. He had to. He was so close it was painful. He grit his teeth, lifted his eyes to look at Jim, who had slowed his thrusts. Much to John’s discomfort so. He squirmed, trying to get some friction, anything that would drive him over the edge.

 

A heavy hand between John’s shoulder blades pushed him down. “Ah, ah, ah. None of that. You’re going to have to ask for it.”

 

Jim pushed and pulled torturously slow.

 

He wanted it to be over. “Please, let me come.” He took a deep breath when nothing happened. “Daddy.”

John felt through Jim’s hands how he shuddered. “Oh my. Oh MY! Say it again!” He was shouting.

 

“Please let my come, daddy. Please! I need to come!” He was so close. His head felt like it wasn’t part of his body anymore, so he didn’t care as much about these words leaving his mouth like he normally would have.

 

“Yes!” It was barely a hiss as Jim started to pound into John again, one hand pulling the cock ring off of him. A brush against his prostate, two long pulls on his throbbing cock, and he tumbled over the edge. A white glaring light exploded behind his eyes as he came, shouting.

 

Only a few seconds of bliss, peace and calm. And then it was ripped from him again. When he had come, he had unintentionally clenched around Jim, milking the madman’s orgasm from him.

 

Nails dug deep into John’s back, and the sound that left his mouth, was more animal like than human.

 

John could feel the hot wetness spread inside him. Had he just really begged for release? He felt nauseous.

 

He was no better than Sherlock. No. He was worse.

 

Jim’s breathing was now evening out again, and John heard him chuckle. His arse was patted. “I do give you too many rewards Johnny. We really should come to the punishing part soon.”

 

John tried to squirm away from the touch.

 

“What would you rather do? Suck my cock, or let my dear friend Sebby here fuck you? See how gracious I am, I still let you choose between two punishments.”

 

John’s head shot up to see a man walk towards them, coming from behind. He stopped to stand beside Moriarty. He was much taller and more muscular.

 

John felt his cheeks flush. He was lying there, fucked open and raw, come dripping from his used hole, and running down his spread thighs. And this strange man saw him like this.

 

The man’s pale eyes roamed over John’s body. His dark blond hair was cut short and there was a scar running just above his left eye to his cheekbone. His stance told John that he had been military. Seeing the shoes, he realised that they were the man’s who had given Moriarty the laptop. The corner of his mouth twitched up, he looked positively hungry.

 

John’s eyes flitted between Moriarty, who was much smaller and the tall man, who looked like he could rip him apart with bare hands if he wanted to.

 

He was just about to say that he would choose Moriarty, when he himself lifted his hand. He had been tucked neatly back into his trousers.

 

“Do keep in mind that I will have to put that gag back in, because lets face it, you’re not a hundred per cent trustworthy yet, and I will not take off the chain. Also I will just have my way with you. No holding up to give you extra air.” He dropped his hand, and motioned towards his leaking hole. “And here you have another advantage. You are already open and lubricated. Choose wisely my boy. I don’t want you to regret your decision.”

 

John gulped. That was not a decision he wanted to make. One man had already raped him, why would he want another one leaving his marks on his body?

 

He took a deep breath and tried to think.

 

“Tick tock, Johnny. If you don’t give me an answer in three seconds we’ll do both. At the same time.”

 

John’s head was reeling. He couldn’t believe he was about to decide between two to start with terrible options.

 

“You.” He glared at Jim trough the mirror.

 

Jim cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Sebby it is.”

 

John looked at him, and it took him a few seconds to process what he had just said. “Wait, what? No! I said I want you! Jim!”

 

Moriarty walked around to John’s front, crouching down. “I did hear you Johnny. But this is part of the punishment. I give you what you don’t want.” He grinned.

 

He looked up at where ‘Sebby’ was standing and nodded: “Go ahead. He’s already itching for you to start.”

 

John felt a rough hand on the small of his back. He couldn’t do this, he was oversensitive and it would surely hurt. The man looked like he had never indulged in gentleness.

 

He started to thrash and shout: “No! No, you said… you said I could choose!” He looked at Moriarty, whose face now looked like a sad grimace. “Oh Johnny-boy. I thought you had learned not to trust me by now. I normally am a man of my word, but whenever it comes to punishing, I get a bit sneaky.” He patted John’s cheek and stood to walk back again. He had his hands shoved into his pockets.

 

He was standing aside, to watch as Sebby kneaded John’s arse with one hand and palmed his erection through the fabric of his tightly fitted jeans.

 

His eyes never left John’s for a second. Even when he spoke, his gaze didn’t waver.

 

“Can I talk to him, boss?” His voice was rough and deep. John shuddered when the rough hand came down around his hip. The sawhorse was built so that the person who lay on it only pressed against it with the middle of the chest. This meant that his nipples were exposed.

 

“Do with him whatever you want, as long as I don’t tell you to stop you have free reign.”

John could only muster up a quiet ‘please’.

 

The hand on his right him rubbed up his flank, and then came down around to pinch a nipple, which was quickly hardening between the circling fingers.

 

John clenched his teeth.

 

“Oh, you are so pretty, aren’t you? Ever since the pool, when I had my rifle pointed at you. I had some time to study your face, your expressions. You are one good little soldier for whoever wins your trust first. A shame I didn’t get to meet you in the army. We would have made a great team. What a delight it must have been for the man who was allowed to order you around.”

 

A zipper sounded as it was pulled down. John hadn’t even realized that he had closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at those pale eyes again, as they made him freeze inside.

 

“Does it make it easier for you to be tied down? Knowing that you’ve got no way out? Would you hate yourself more if I held you down with my bare hands? I love to feel them struggle, makes it much more of a fight, and so much more of a sweet triumph when they lose anyway.”

 

John opened his eyes abruptly when he felt a cock nudge against his hole. Immediately he found the other man’s eyes.

 

“You’re a sick bastard with no morals.” John pushed the words through his gritted teeth. Laughter roared up behind him, and he could see the man’s white, sharp teeth.

 

“Sebastian. Don’t tease him. Get on with it. I’m getting impatient.” Moriarty sounded like he was scolding a child.

 

Sebastian’s hands pulled his cheeks apart. “Alright.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

 

“I did enjoy fucking you with that dildo yesterday, but this…”, the smile that was plastered on his face made John feel sick, “… is all I’ve been thinking about since the night at the pool.”

 

John cried out when Sebastian rammed all the way home. It hurt so much. He almost wished Moriarty where the one standing there, at least he would have been gentler.

The man’s huge hands grabbed his hips hard, pulling out and thrusting back in with fervour. John was sure that he would have fallen forward with the sawhorse, if Sebastian hadn’t been holding onto him so tightly.

 

It was like he could feel the bruises bloom all over his waist and hips.

 

With every thrust he emitted another cry, until he couldn’t anymore. Only gasps left his dry lips.

 

“You. Feel. So. Good!” Every word was punctuated with a thrust, one harder than the other.

John had been right when he had thought that the man could rip one apart with his bare hands, because it sure felt like it.

 

“Oh Sebby, keep doing that. I love the noises he makes.” Jim came forward once again, turning his ear to John and closing his eyes. John willed himself to shut his lips, but he simply couldn’t. A smile spread on Jim’s face, like he was listening his favourite song.

 

“So good, I’m getting goose bumps.”

 

John could feel tears well up in his eyes, the pain was so deep and scarring.

 

Whenever Sebastian pulled out, John pleaded. “Please! Stop! Oh god! Please!”

But he wouldn’t.

 

Just when John thought the grip on his hips couldn’t tighten any further, it did just that.

 

The thrusts became jerky and rapid, until Sebastian finally came with a shout. He collapsed right on top of John, who was sobbing, feeling the second load of come today stain his insides.

 

Through deep breaths he could smell the stale cigarette smoke of the man lying on top of him. Mint was mixed into the smell as well, something John would normally find enjoyable, but now made him want to retch.

 

Slowly the man pushed himself up from John’s back, pulling out, making John wince.

 

“I wish your dear Sherlock could see you like this.” John felt rough fingers against his abused entrance pushing the leaking come back inside.

 

“So beautiful, don’t you think boss? Can we plug him up to keep it in?” Moran’s voice sounded excited.

 

John was exhausted and didn’t even feel the tears running down his cheeks anymore.

 

Jim stood and patted John’s head. “Yes dear. Why ever not?”


End file.
